Chapter 30
Happy Fucking Birthday to Me
Layla
It’s my birthday. I’m going to have a good day.
The words feel like a mantra I’m repeating to convince myself, even as my chest aches with every breath. I stand in front of the guest house mirror, smoothing my hands over the black bodycon dress that clings to every curve, hips, soft belly, full breasts, like it was painted on.
The fabric is cool and silky against my skin, hugging tight, making me feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time.
Red heels make my legs look longer, calves flexing as I shift my weight.
My hair is curled in loose waves, a cute little headband holding it back, simple gold jewelry catching the soft lamp light—earrings dangling, necklace resting between my cleavage.
Makeup is on point: smoky eyes, red lips that match the heels, cheeks flushed just enough to look alive.
I look hot. I want to look hot. Because this is how he’ll remember me.
This is the last impression I’m leaving on Cole Marshall.
What the Marshalls don’t know is that instead of leaving in a few weeks, I’m leaving tomorrow.
I can’t do this anymore with Cole. I’ve expressed my feelings with him.
He hasn’t returned them. The only time that man seems to say what’s on his mind is when he’s seven inches deep inside me, growling filthy praises about my body while he fucks me senseless, calling me his, telling me how perfect I feel, how he can’t get enough.
I’ve given my all but after overhearing what I heard—“Sooner the better for me. So I can just move on with my life”—well… I better be on my way.
My throat tightens. I spritz vanilla perfume on my wrists and neck, the sweet, warm scent wrapping around me like a memory I’m trying to leave behind and head out.
The night air hits cool and fresh, carrying the faint smell of cut grass and wood smoke from the bonfire already lit near the barn.
Crickets hum, stars sharp overhead. The barn is transformed, string lights crisscross the rafters, glowing soft gold against the old wood beams. Tables are set with checkered cloths, mason jars full of wildflowers, the buffet loaded with ribs glossy with sauce, cornbread golden, coleslaw crisp.
Country music thumps low from speakers, laughter and clinking bottles fill the air.
The smell hits me first, smoked meat, fresh bread, beer, hay, and that faint barn scent that’s become home.
It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. And it hurts like hell.
I walk in, heels clicking on the concrete floor, and heads turn.
I feel eyes on me—appreciative, curious—but I only care about one pair.
Cole’s. He’s across the room, dark button-down rolled at the sleeves, jeans hugging his thighs, his new buckle gleaming.
His eyes find me, slowly rake from my red heels up my legs, over my hips, lingering on my breasts, then up to my face.
His jaw tightens. Good. Let him look. Let him remember.
Maggie spots me first. “There she is!” She rushes over, arms wide, pulling me into a hug that smells like hairspray and tequila. “You look like a damn knockout!”
“Thanks, Mags,” I say, hugging back tight—her warmth familiar, grounding. “This place looks incredible.”
The buffet looks great—ribs glossy with sauce, cornbread golden, coleslaw crisp—but I instantly go up to grab a shot of tequila. The glass is cold, liquor sharp and burning as it slides down my throat, warming my chest, loosening the knot there just a little.
“I hope you’re loving the party!” Maggie hugs me from behind—arms tight, voice bright over the music.
“It looks beautiful Maggie. You did a really good job,” I smile at her.
“Well me and Luke,” Maggie says as Luke walks up, grinning wide, beer in hand.
“Hey there big guy.” I reach in for a hug, his arms strong, familiar.
“Happy birthday Layla,” Luke says.
“It looks great. Both of you thank you.”
“We’re really going to miss you when you go. You’ve become like a sister to me,” Luke says, voice sincere, eyes soft.
Well at least one of the Marshall siblings knows how to express his emotions and feelings. That almost makes me tear up because they have become my family too. The words hit hard, chest tight, throat burning.
“You all have become my family too. I will miss you guys so much you have no idea! The brother and sister I never had but that I always wanted,” I say, voice cracking just a little.
And suddenly a dark cloud of mysterious smoke of a man comes walking toward me.
“You look nice,” Cole says—voice low, rough, eyes raking over me slowly, lingering on the way the dress hugs my curves, my hips, my breasts.
“Thanks. So do you,” I say, looking around, trying to find something else to distract me from just crying or being in self-loathing over a man who doesn’t love me back.
“Dance with me?” he asks—hand extended.
I side-eye him.
“One dance.”
“Fine.” I chug the rest of my beer cold, bitter fizz and he grabs my hand, calluses rough and warm.
He’s twisting and twirling me around to some country music—the beat steady, his hand firm on my lower back, thumb brushing bare skin where the dress dips.
Maggie is taking video and pictures of us,the flashes are bright.
After a few fast songs the music slows, soft, aching, the kind that makes you want to sway close.
“So two weeks and you’re leaving huh?” he asks, voice low, close to my ear, breath warm on my neck.
I smile, tight, forced. “I wonder when we’re going to cut the cake.”
I’m not talking about this right now. I’m leaving tomorrow and I’m already fighting back tears. If I start talking about it now well… I just might break down. Because even though he doesn’t love me back. I love him.
I break away from dancing, hand slipping from his and grab another beer, my third one plus a shot of tequila earlier. I’ll be jet-lagged tomorrow along with hungover but it’s alright. I’ll live. At least maybe I’ll be too miserable to think about him, to think about leaving this family.
“Time for cake!” Maggie screams and whistles.
Cole and I stand side by side in front of the cake while everyone sings happy birthday.
The flashes of the cameras start to get to me a little, bright and blinding.
His hand on my lower back starts to get to me a little as well, warm, steady, thumb brushing slow circles that make my skin tingle, memories of last night flashing hot and vivid.
I grab my plate and head for the table—they all follow. Maggie sits next to me, then Luke and Cole.
“You should just stay here right Mags?” Luke says.
“Right. You can have the guest house. We are going to miss you too much. Can’t you do your writing and everything here?” Maggie asks.
“It’s possible but I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I chuckle nervously, voice tight.
“Why?” Luke asks.
“Why not? We all love you and want you here,” Maggie says.
I chuckle, I can’t help it. It’s bitter, broken.
“I’m confused, what's funny?” Maggie says.
I look at Cole but he won’t even make eye contact with me, staring at his plate, jaw tight.
“I’m a good friend Maggie,” I look in Maggie's eyes “But it’s probably best I leave. The sooner the better, right Cole?”
I look at him.
He freezes, fork paused, eyes finally meeting mine, wide, shocked.
“I heard you. Everything you said and everything you won’t say.” I take the last bite of my cake, sweet icing sticking to my teeth and stand. “Maggie, Luke, this was an amazing party. I love you both very much but I am going to call it a night.”
“Layla,” Cole says, voice low, rough, almost pleading.
I just shake my head and grab a couple carrots from the stand so I can go feed Sara and Shadow.
And to say my goodbyes to those horses. They are the sweetest, the best and I never thought I’d be attached to this large of an animal before.
I also never thought I’d find a family and then leave that said family but here we are. Happy fucking birthday to me.